Notes: Written for the Yuletide
Challenge, 2004. Thank you to Livia for the excellent beta.

The story takes place between Sabriel
and Lirael. Since their battle with Kerrigor in Ancelstierre, Sabriel
and Touchstone had begun a slow journey back to Belisaere where they
planned to wed and begin reconstruction of the palace. Along the way,
they had banished as much of the evil left over from Kerrigor's
treachery as they could, but the work was slow and dangerous, and there
was still much left to do.

Anyone who had seen the competent and calm manner with which Sabriel
dispatched the murderous dead spirits she battled would be shocked to
discover her, mere hours before her wedding flung across her bed at the
Sign of the Three Lemons inn, crying as if her heart would break.

Sabriel was not normally given to hysterics and fits of weeping. Nor
was she the type of young woman who liked to admit that she had
indulged in girlish fantasies of her wedding day. And yet, now that the
day of her marriage had finally arrived, she inwardly confessed that
her fantasies had always included two key elements: a handsome young
prince at her side and her father happily looking on. The cold
realization that she would only have one had filled her with a profound
grief.

The difficult and unceasing work had left Sabriel little time to mourn,
and this quiet moment was one of the first she'd had to truly
contemplate her loss and give in to her uncharacteristic tears.

A sudden sharp pain in her left arm made Sabriel jump and lift her
head. Startlingly green and feline eyes met her gaze, and she realized
the pain was from a set of claws digging into her bare arm.

"Mogget!" Sabriel exclaimed. Tears flowing faster now, but tears of
relief, for she had feared he might never wake. "You're awake."

"Yes," Mogget yawned, "I am."

"I was afraid you'd sleep f-for-"

"Oh do stop your sniveling," he cut her off crossly. He batted at her
arm again, but at least kept his claws in this time. "Is this any way
for an Abhorsen to behave?"

"No. Kerrigor is safe. Ranna holds him firmly in slumber, and the
supplemental spells you cast will hold for the time being. But so long
as so many broken Charter Stones remain his sleep is uneasy. You must
take him to Abhorsen's house. There in the deepest cellar you can work
stronger binding magic to ensure that he sleeps forever. There is no
time to delay. We'll leave right after the ceremony."

"But we were planning to honeymoon in High Bridge," Sabriel protested.

"You can conceive the next Abhorsen just as easily at the house as you
can in High Bridge," Mogget replied testily, provoking a deep blush to
stain Sabriel's cheeks.

Sabriel prepared to say something cutting to hide her embarrassment,
but the words died on her lips as Mogget shocked her by doing something
he had never done before. He stood on his hind legs, placing his paws
on Sabriel's shoulder and butted his soft, furry head against her
cheek, drying the tracks of her tears as if by accident.

The gesture was brief and swift as a hawk taking flight. Sabriel could
scarcely believe it had happened, and her hand faltered forward,
intending to pet him, but drew back quickly when Mogget's mouth opened
wide, thinking he was going to bite her. Mogget only yawned and dug his
claws into the bedclothes, arching his back in a languorous stretch.
"Calm your sorrows; calm your fears. Clap three times and dry you
tears," he muttered sleepily, yawned again, and went back to sleep.

That had been the rhyme her father used to soothe her when she was a
small child. Or perhaps it was Mogget's rhyme, and her father had
learned it from him. She hadn't heard it in many years, possibly not
since she went over the wall to Ancelstierre for schooling.

Sabriel resisted the rhyme's directive for a moment, then changed her
mind, clapping her hands and drying the tears on her other cheek with
the back of her hand. The old ritual soothed her, and she felt a gentle
peace unfolding from the center of her being. Perhaps there was some
magic in it, or perhaps it was simply the power of her memories from a
happier time. She could not tell.

Sabriel rose from the bed and lifted her dress from its box. The heavy
silk brocade rustled like moths wings. She held it against her
chest in the mirror, admiring the white fabric embroidered with the
silver keys of the Abhorsen.

Another bit of verse came back to her. From time to time Sabriel would
catch her father studying her intently. On these occasions he would
say, "Rejoice, oh mean and poorly father. For thou hast made a lovely
daughter."

Sabriel smiled, feeling certain that was what he would say if he were
here now. "Thank you," she said, inclining her head as she always did
in response to the compliment.

Her back was turned, so she did not see when Mogget's tail twitched in
response.

***

Vacations were a rare luxury for the Abhorsen and the King of the Old
Kingdom, but on a bright spring day in the fourth year of the
Restoration Sabriel and Touchstone were relaxing at the Abhorsen's
house, enjoying a sunny picnic by the river.

A slight rustle in the grass behind her caused Sabriel to turn around
and notice a flash of white coming towards them. "Mogget! You're
awake!"

Mogget let out a mew that sounded like a sigh, "You do like to make
that observation."

Touchstone turned and almost smiled before he noticed the scales Mogget
was delicately cleaning from his whiskers. "You've eaten my fish!" he
shouted.

Mogget sniffed and replied haughtily, "It wasn't much of a fish. Barely
good enough to use as bait. I'm surprised you didn't throw it back."

"Why don't you go back to sleep." Touchstone snapped.

"Why don't you catch another
fish?"

"That bloody cat of yours is too big for his boots," Touchstone
muttered from between clenched teeth. "Too big by half."

Mogget ignored him. He had located a thick clump of grass in a
convenient shaft of sunlight and was circling round and round to form a
nest.

***

Sabriel was always a gentle child, but she had slapped her
schoolfriend, Sulyn, once. They were only eight years old, and they had
foolishly attempted to sneak out to see a Sunday matinee in Bain.
Instead, they had gotten hopelessly lost, wandering along deserted cow
paths as dusk fell and the countryside around them became increasingly
dark and threatening.

In retrospect, knowing the danger that lurked in Wyverly village,
Sabriel was amazed that they had emerged from the experience unscathed.
The only harm they had suffered was a terrible scare when a bat
suddenly swooped low, flapping right past Sulyn's ear at the same
moment its prey, a small field mouse, let out a dreadful shriek.

Sabriel had jumped and shuddered as she felt the mouse's death ever so
slightly brush against her consciousness, but Sulyn had burst into
tears. "I want my mother," she'd bawled.

At their school it was common enough to hear the younger girls, either
homesick or ill, calling out for their mothers, and the words had never
failed to ignite this senseless rage in Sabriel. On that occasion,
frightened and shaken as she already was, she'd let the rage run free.
She had lashed out, striking Sulyn with her open palm.

The perspective of adulthood told Sabriel that of course her anger was
born of her jealousy. She had no mother to cry out for, and she
resented the girls who did. But this knowledge did nothing to prepare
her for the disorienting effects of hearing the words wailed by her
own, four-year-old son. A small part of the hurt child still raged
within her. She was annoyed in some dark corner of her soul that Sam
would carry on so, but most of her being was taken over by her maternal
instincts. She longed to go to her child, take him in her arms and
comfort and protect him.

And yet, she knew she could not. The spell to banish Sameth's fever was
not complicated, but it would cost strength Sabriel could ill afford to
squander. A powerful Mordicant was terrorizing the costal
villages near Ganel, and Sabriel needed to be in top form to defeat it.

"You should hurry," Touchstone observed from the doorway of the upper
parlor where Sabriel was preparing for her journey. He gestured to the
window where the sun was past its zenith, beginning to sink in the sky.

He was right. Sabriel gauged that she only had another four hours of
sunlight in which to travel. The sendings had laid out all the
necessary supplies, and she strapped her sword to her side, listening
to Sameth's crying still audible from his nearby bedroom. "I want my
mother," he wailed again, and her hands faltered in the act of
fastening her bandolier of bells across her chest.

Touchstone took in her hesitation and sighed, "Just go. I'll look after
him."

Touchstone was fully capable of casting the spell himself and had
already left the room to do so, but still she remained. The guilt of
simply walking away from her crying babe twined about her legs like
parasitic vines on tree trunks, binding her in place.

"Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?"

Sabriel jumped as the familiar sardonic voice spoke the familiar
question. "Mogget! Do you always have to make such a dramatic
entrance?" she asked irritably.

"So it would seem," the cat replied. Though she hadn't seen or heard
him come in, he was seated only a few feet away on the thick blue
carpet, licking his left paw. "Perhaps a good start is what you need.
Why do you delay when the dead whom you are sworn to bind are wreaking
havoc in your kingdom?"

Sabriel gestured helplessly in the direction of Sameth's still audible
crying. "Ellimere was never like this," she said plaintively. It was
true. From her earliest childhood Ellimere had been extremely
susceptible to concepts of honor and duty. Her mother's hasty departure
from her fourth birthday party, even, had caused no more fuss than a
grave kiss on the cheek and a murmured, "be careful, mother."

"And your father never sat around wringing his hands when there was
work to be done, either. Each Abhorsen is different.

"It's a difficult irony," he continued in his half-mew, half-purr tone,
"that those of the Charter bloodlines, most obligated to beget progeny
are also those most ill-suited to act as parents. I always thought your
father was cruel to abandon you to be raised by those ignorant fools
beyond the wall."

"But he was protecting me," she defended her father hotly. "It was too
dangerous for me to stay in the Old Kingdom."

Mogget jumped onto the window seat closer to Sabriel. "How better to
protect you than to stay by your side?" he asked.

"He was always there when I needed him most," she objected. "How could
he look after me and fulfill his other responsibilities? He only did
what was necessary."

"Then what prevents you from following his example?" Mogget fixed her
in his steady green gaze, "You know where your duty lies, Abhorsen. The
child must also learn the nature of his path. You do not aid him by
shielding him from reality."

Sabriel nodded, acknowledging the truth of Mogget's words. She finished
securing the bandolier across her chest and took a moment to feel each
bell in its pouch. The mahogany handles seemed to warm and respond to
her touch. She could feel the fortitude of countless generations of
Abhorsens running through her veins, as if the bells had the power to
communicate their presence.

It was true her father was often absent during her childhood, but she
had always carried a sense that he was watching over her somehow. She
still did. And she could never doubt his love.

Sabriel fastened her cloak and lifted her pack to her shoulders. She
tiptoed across the hall and quietly cracked open the door to Sameth's
room. His face was still flushed from the fever, looking unnaturally
red against the white of his pillow, but he was sleeping peacefully.
His breath came slow and even, and the sight of his innocent relaxed
face warmed her heart. She began to draw the door closed, but a flash
of white in the corner of her eye made her pause. Sabriel stuck her
head farther into the room and saw Mogget, a white circle of fur
nestled closely at Sam's feet.

Sabriel adjusted the weight of her pack to sit more comfortably on her
shoulders. She had many miles to travel before the day was out. There
were many people in need of her aid.